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BITS OF BACKGROUND 

IN ONE ACT PLAYS 



BY 

EMMA BEATRICE BRUNNER 




NEW YORK ALFRED A. KNOPF MCMXix 



COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY 
EMMA BEATRICE BRUNNER 






In their present form these plays are dedicated to the 
reading public only, and no performances of them may be 
given without the permission of the author who may be 
addressed in care of the publisher. Any piracy or infringe- 
ment will be prosecuted in accordance with the penalties 
provided by the United States Statutes: — 

Sec. 4966. — Any person publicly performing or repre- 
senting any dramatic or musical composition, for which 
copyright has been obtained, without the consent of the 
proprietor of the said dramatic or musical composition, or 
his heirs or assigns, shall be liable for damages therefor, 
such damages in all cases to be assessed at such sum, not 
less than one hundred dollars for the first and fifty dollars 
for every subsequent performance, as to thfe Court shall 
appear to be just. If the unlavyful performance and rep- 
resentation be wilful and for* profit, such person or persons 
shall be guilty of a misdemeaHcU", and upon conviction be 
imprisoned for a period not* 'exceeding one year. — U. S. 
Revised Statutes, Title 60, Chap. 3. 



Mi 24 1919 \^ 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OT AMERICA 



©CI.A525988 



^r^ 









CONTENTS 




Over Age 5 




The Spark of Life 51 


* 


Strangers 71 


i 


Making a Man 99 



OVER AGE 



CHARACTERS 

Mrs. Annersley, an actress 
Will Annersley, her son 
Mrs. Beaseley, a friend 
Leontine, the maid 
Mrs. Sarah Mulqueen 



PLACE 

New York City. 

TIME 

Autumn of 19 17 when Government regulations 
did not permit women relatives of men in service 
to engage in overseas work and passports were re- 
fused to applicants over forty years of age. 



OVER AGE 

r g iHE scene is the living room in the home of 
g an actress, a famous one, so the room is 

-^ well furnished with taste and charm. It 
is essentially a becoming background although just 
now, a rather sombre one. At least Will 
An.nersley thinks so. He enters, pulls up the 
shades, letting in the sunshine; sits on the couch, 
disarranging the pillows; drags out the news- 
papers which were neatly piled on the table; in 
short upsets everything. He is probably priv- 
ileged because he is delicate and the only son of a 
highly emotional, adoring mother. 

Suddenly Leontine, Mrs. Annersley's maid, 
comes bustling in. In the glare of the light she 
looks her fifty years, though her hair is still black, 
her eyes dark and snapping. At sight of the 
room she is much perturbed and therefore over- 
bold. 

Leontine 
Ah, Monsieur, it is too bad I This room — the 
look of it! I implore you adjust those curtains. 
You know that madame your mother could never 

9 



lo OVER AGE 

stand this glare. She is coming in now; this min- 
ute ! I beg of you ! 

{While Leontine is hustling around try- 
ing to put everything in order at once, 
Mrs. Annersley enters,) 

Leontine 

Monsieur! Ah, Madame! 

(^Leontine is torn between the very 
charming woman who has appeared in the 
doorway J and her son who has risen to re- 
ceive her. The woman is jifty, hut even 
in the glare there is nothing to he tray it, 
except her son. She is in a luxurious tea 
gown that harmonizes with the apartment, 
Leontine has now arranged the couch, 
Mrs. Annersley recognizes her hack- 
ground and flits into it. She raises a news- 
paper to her eyes.) 

Mrs. Annersley 
(Shrinking in the glare) 
Billyboy — Billy! 

Annersley 
Oh, forgive me. Mater. 

(He pulls down the hlinds, and her face 

becomes radiant with smiles.) 
Vm worried about my job ! 



OVER AGE II 

Mrs. An.nersley 
Don't let anything worry you ; I never do. 

Annersley 
(Importantly) 
You're not working for the Department of Jus- 
tice; I am. 

Mrs. Annersley 

No, thank heaven ! 

Annersley 
I've been there this morning, talking to them 
and to some of the Secret Service people. There's 
such a lot to be done ! What with spies and 
German intrigues they have their hands full. And 
I've done nothing, nothing! 

Mrs. Annersley 
(Plaintively) 
But, Billy boy, what can you do ? 

Annersley 
(Moodily) 
I don't know ! That's it. Nothing ever comes 
my way ! They were telling me this morning 
about a woman whom they strongly suspect is one 
of a gang of bomb makers, a spy in the service of 
the enemy! They say she hangs about the thea- 



12 OVER AGE 

tres a good deal. You haven't happened to see, 
or hear anything about anyone by the name of 
Mulqueen? That's the name she goes by now. 

Mrs. An.nersley 
No. Anything new in the papers this morn- 
ing? 

Annersley 
Nothing special. They've arrested a Ger- 
man, masquerading as a Belgian. I knew they 
were going to yesterday. He's been using Ger- 
man-American firms as dummies to get wool for 
Germany. Then — 

Mrs. Annersley 
(Irritably) 
Oh, I didn't mean that sort of news! We 
seem to talk of nothing but spies in this house ! 

(Annersley jumps to his feet nervously, 
conscious of wrong doing.) 

Leontine 
(Quickly with infinite comprehension) 
Madame was superb last night! A packed 
house again! 

Mrs. Annersley 
(Willing to admit both counts) 
Yes — yes. 



OVER AGE 13 

Leontine 
There was more applause than ever ! 

Mrs. Annersley 
(With a sigh of satisfaction) 
Yes, I believe there was. 

Leontine 
And again the house It was sold out I 

Mrs. Annersley 
Do you wonder I feel half dead this morning? 

Annersley 

(Anxious to make amends) 

But you look great! 

(The faithful Leontine seeing now that 
all is well, disappears about her work.) 

Mrs. Annersley 

(All smiles) 

Oh, Billy boy, you're a dear ! What should I 
do without you? How I suffered the day you 
went up for examination! If they had accepted 
you! Ah, the poor mothers and wives! My 
heart bleeds for them! (Now almost in tears.) 
Billy boy, if they were to take you — I'd kill my- 
self. 



14 OVER AGE 

Annersley 
Oh, no, you wouldn't. 

Mrs. Annersley 

No; no; perhaps not! I should live! My 
face would show my suffering; my breaking heart, 
my tortured soul would be reflected there.^ 

(^Mrs. Annersley acts her suffering to 
the full and is only interrupted by the en- 
trance of Mrs. Beaseley.) 

Mrs. Beaseley 

Leontine said I could come in. 

(The interruption comes from their neigh- 
bor and intimate friend. She is a splen- 
did specimen of womanhood^ big, fine, fifty. 
A few grey hairs, a few lines, but healthy 
and strong, full of exuberance and energy.) 
I stopped just for a moment to ask if I might 
bring you over some eggs from the farm — but 
what's the matter? 

Mrs. Annersley 
Oh, we poor mothers and wives I 

Mrs. Beaseley 
(In consternation) 
My dear! 



OVER AGE 15 

Mrs. An.nersley 
Those who have sons in France. If my son 
were there! 

Mrs. Beaseley 
But he isn't. 

Mrs. An.nersley 
But if he were there ! If he were strong 
enough! My dear when one has an imagination 
one suffers. (Her tone indicates that her neigh- 
hor has none,) Tell me, what news have you? 
Anything more ? 

Mrs. Beaseley 

(Simply) 
My boy is not dead, or I should have heard. 

Mrs. Annersley 
How do you stand it ? 

Mrs. Beaseley 
By keeping busy ; by helping other boys. 

Mrs. An-nersley 
If you could only go over to nurse, or some- 
thing — 

Mrs. Beaseley 
Impossible, no mothers are allowed. And then 
my age ; they want young women. If I only looked 
thirty-five I 



i6 OVER AGE 

Mrs. An.nersley 
(Complacently) 
Yes, you do look older. 

Annersley 
(Breaking in) 
There's a lot to be done here ! 

Mrs. Beaseley 
Yes, yes, looking after our boys. 

Annersley 
And looking after the spies ! 

(Enter Leontine with card) 

Leontine 
For madame ! 

Mrs. Annersley 
For me ? Why, Leontine, you know Fm not at 
home I Who is it? (Reading card.) "Dear 
Lady: I hope you will receive me, pardon the 
liberty. I need advice that you above all others 
can give me. Yours in heartfelt admiration. 
Sarah Mulqueen." I never heard of her! 

Annersley 
(In great excitement) 
Read that again! 



OFER AGE 17 

Mrs. Annersley 
Why, what's the matter? Billy! What is it? 

Annersley 
Let me see that card! (He reads it eagerly.) 
Sarah Mulqueen ! Mother, that's the name I just 
told you ! Sarah Mulqueen is a spy, a famous 
spy! The Secret Service has been after her for 
weeks! You must see her! It's the most won- 
derful coincidence ! Leontine, where is she ? 

Leontine 
In the reception room. 

Annersley 
Go back to her! Don't let her out of your 
sight ! Tell her Madame will see her in a minute ! 
Keep her. Mrs. Beaseley, help me ! 

(^Leontine nods reassuringly and exits,) 

Mrs. Beaseley 
It seems worth while, Julia! 

Annersley 
She doesn't dream she's going to walk into a 
trap ! 

Mrs. Annersley 
Julia Annersley traps a spy ! 

{Visualizing headlines in the morning 
papers and yielding graciously.) 



1 8 OVER AGE 

Annersley 
(Briskly) 
Now we must be prepared for everything, any- 
thing; she's probably a coarse, bold creature, who 
will offend you every time she speaks. They told 
me she had several aliases and any number of dis- 
guises. One man said she was young and blonde ; 
another swore she had dark hair ! She's here for 
a purpose, of course. We must be on our guard; 
none of us must tell her anything, and yet we 
musn't seem to suspect. There's something she 
wants to find out, of course, or she wouldn't have 
asked for the interview ! And, mother — she 
may want to see you alone. 

Mrs. An-nersley 
(Interrupting nervously) 
What? 

Annersley 
But I'll be within call if she does. See, I'll 
watch from here ! 

(Indicates a curtained door leading to an- 
other room.) 

Mrs. Beaseley 
rU go as soon as I've seen her! 

Annersley 
And none of us must forget that she has said 
she'll never be taken alive! 



OVER AGE 19 

Mrs. An-nersley 
(Seeing herself in a new role) 
You mean she carries a pistol? 

Annersley 

Possibly. But so do I ! Now, mother, are you 
ready? 

(He raises the shade again.) 

Mrs. Annersley 
(Protesting) 
Billyboy! 

Annersley 

(Impatiently) 

Mater, remember she's a spy, a dangerous 
character ! We must be able to see her ! 

Mrs. Beaseley 
Shall I ask Leontine to bring her in? 

Mrs. Annersley 
One moment! Here move the couch forward! 

Annersley 

(Placing chair in light) 

This is her chair, mother. Now be careful! 
Now Mrs. Beaseley! 

(Mrs. Beaseley exits.) 



20 OFER AGE 

Annersley 
(Quickly) 

And one thing more, mother; don't let her leave 
under any circumstances I No matter what hap- 
pens you must keep her! Let her have what- 
ever she wants. Anything, anything ! Don't 
fail me ! 

(In the slight pause that follows, they ar- 
range themselves for the proper reception 
of Mrs. Mulqueen. Then Mrs. Bease- 
LEY returns followed hy Leontine.) 

Leontine 
(Announcing) 

Madame Mulqueen ! 

(A small pathetic, insignificant, elderly 
person carrying a black bag comes timidly 
in at the door, a figure in dingy grey. 
Skin, hair, eyes, all look as if tinted with 
the same dull hue. Altogether Mrs. 
Mulqueen in manner and appearance is 
a surprise to everyone.) 

Mrs. An.nersley 

(Recovering first, after an awkward pause) 

Are you Mrs. Mulqueen? (^Mrs. Mulqueen 

nods timidly.) This is my friend, Mrs. Beaseley, 

a great worker for the Red Cross, and my son> 

Mr. Annersley. Won't you be seated ? 



OVER AGE 21 

Annersley 

Here; here, sit here. 

(Mrs. Mulqueen has moved awk- 
wardly to an arm-chair^ hut Annersley 
actually insists upon the chair in the light. 
She moves it out of the light. He pushes 
it back. Finally she sits on the extreme 
edge of it,) 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

(Uncomfortably) 

I wasn^t expecting to see anyone. I thought 
you'd be alone. I — I — 

(She hesitates, and pauses. They all ex- 
change significant glances.) 

Mrs. Annersley 

You didn't mention that your business con- 
cerned me alone. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

(Awkwardly) 

Oh, didn't I ? I'm sorry. I don't express my- 
self well. I never could, not even at school. 
That's my trouble. I mean one trouble. 
There now, I've blurted It out! Have I hurt 
anyone's feelings? I hope not; I wouldn't do 
that for the world. 



22 OVER AGE 

Annersley 

(Quickly, with a glance at his mother) 

Oh, we were going anyway. IVe got a lot of 
things to do ! 

Mrs. Beaseley 

I was going too. I'll bring you over the eggs 
before I start for the hospital. 

(Annersley crosses to his mother, and 
lays his hand on her shoulder, reassur- 
ingly,) 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(To Mrs. Beaseley) 
You're in a hospital? 

Mrs. Beaseley 

Yes, helping, helping all I can for my -son. 
He's over there — (Annersley makes a sign for 
her to tell nothing, and she ends lamely) some- 
where in Europe. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(Quivering suddenly) 
Your son — over there? 

Mrs. Beaseley 
Yes — Why, what's the matter? 



OVER AGE ±i 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

(Apparently confused) 

Nothing. I was just thinking — you've a son ! 
That's all. 

Mrs. Beaseley 
That seems to surprise you. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(Hesitating) 

No — no — I — (Stupidly) Lots of women 
have sons! 

Mrs. Beaseley 
(Proudly) 
Mine's a Colonel in the 38th Infantry. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

(Shrilly, as though losing control of her voice) 
The 38th! 

Mrs. Beaseley 

You know someone in the 38th? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

Yes — that is — well — I didn't say I knew 
anyone, did I ? I didn't mean to. I — no — no. 
You see I express myself badly. I told you I did. 
I'm not. used to people. 



24 OVER AGE 

Mrs. Beaseley 
(Bitterly) 

Oh, well, I can see you haven^t anyone very 
near to you over there ! 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

Can you ? To be sure ! Of course you can. 
(Through all this, WiLL Annersley has 
been getting more and more irritable. 
Things don't seem to be progressing his 
way at all. This Mrs. Mulqueen is a 
most curious person. One minute she 
seems to be on the verge of tears; the next 
her voice is shrill with excitement. But he 
has had experience enough to know that 
any sort of person may be a spy. He is 
anxious to get to work.) 

Annersley 
(Abruptly, even sharply) 
I must be off. Are you coming, Mrs. Bease- 
ley? ; 

Mrs. Beaseley 
Yes; yes, to be sure. I'll be back again with 
the eggs. 

(The two women are left alone. There 
is a long pause. Sarah Mulqueen 
never moves her eyes from the actress. 
At last Mrs. Annersley rises nervously.) 



OVER AGE 25 

Mrs. An.nersley 
Well, what Is it? You wrote you wanted to 
see me. Well? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(Looking around timidly) 
It's — It's — I'll come to It In a moment. Oh, 
you're so wonderful! (Mrs. Annersley, un- 
deniably pleased, sits down again. Another 
pause.) And that was your son that went out of 
the room a moment ago? 

Mrs. Annersley 

(Wonderingly) 
Yes. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
I heard you had a son, about twenty-five. That 
makes It all the more wonderful. 

(Mrs. Mulqueen stares at Mrs. An- 
nersley, stares and stares, in a way that 
is almost embarrassing.) 

Mrs. Annersley 
(At last) 
Makes what wonderful? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(JVith genuine admiration) 
The way you look. Not more than thirty- 
five! Thirty even, at a pinch! 



26 OVER AGE 

Mrs. Annersley 

Thank you. 

(Another pause, which threatens to he em- 
barrassing.) 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

Now your friend, the lady that just went out 
— what's her name? 

(Carelessly playing with a paper cutter ly- 
ing on table.) 

Mrs. Annersley 

(Suspiciously and eagerly, because she is 
glad to have something to be suspicious 
about.) 
Why? Why do you want to know? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

Why just so as to Indicate her. What else 
should there be? 

Mrs. Annersley 
(Still suspicious, nervously removes paper cutter) 
Her name is Beaseley. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(Reflectively) 
She looks her age. 



OVER AGE 27 

Mrs. An-nersley 
(Puzzled, but not displeased) 
Yes, she does. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
So does the woman who let me In. 

Mrs. An.nersley 
My maid, Leontine. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
And I. Three old women! And you young 
among us! 

Mrs. An.nersley 
(Her most gracious self) 
What do you mean? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
I shouldn't be surprised If you look all the 
younger because we look so old. It makes a heap 
of difference. 

Mrs. Annersley 
But you haven't asked to see me about that? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
No; no. (Looks around timidly.) I'm com- 
ing to it. Even here In this room close to, 
you're wonderful. Oh, I've seen you in all your 
plays. Every night I've been to see you, and I 



28 OVER AGE 

wasn't sure If youM look young off the stage. So 
I sent in my card, asking you to see me. 

Mrs. An-nersley 
It was most unusual. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(Awkwardly) 
Would you mind changing seats with me? 

Mrs. An.nersley 
(Alarmed) 
What for? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
Oh, just — I want to see how you look in the 
sunlight. You don't mind? 

Mrs. An.nersley 
Indeed I do mind ! 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
Ah, that's a point I 

Mrs. Annersley 
(Bluntly and no longer afraid. No one could he 
afraid of this woman) 
Are you here taking points? For what? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
I want to be young. You're always young; 
young when you're sad; young when you're gay; 



OVER AGE 29 

young; young! I look so old, so much older. 
Yet, you won't mind if I say it ? (In a whisper,) 
I'm not. 

Mrs. Annersley 
How do you know? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
Well, your son. 

Mrs. An.nersley 
(Very patronizing) 
Yes, but you see I was only sixteen when he 
was born, and he's just past twenty. So — 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(Interrupting eagerly) 
That's what I want to say! I'm dying to say 
just that; but I can't! 

Mrs. Annersley 
(With genuine amazement) 
You! 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
I can't, because people wouldn't believe me; 
because I can't look it. Any woman who can look 
it, can say it. And nowadays there are so many. 
Oh, help me! Help me! 

Mrs. Annersley 
Help you? 



30 OVER AGE 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
Help me to be able to say it, to look it. 

Mrs. An.nersley 
That's most extraordinary. You! You want 
to be — 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(Eagerly interrupting) 
Young! Young! 

Mrs. An.nersley 
But — 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(Pleading earnestly) 
If you can, why can't I ? 

Mrs. An-nersley 
Well, you are the most astonishing person I 
ever met! 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
Will you help me ? 

Mrs. Annersley 
I? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
That's what I came for. Now it's out. And 
you'll think I'm a fool, but I'm not. I'm only a 
woman — a woman — 

(Breaking off feebly.) 



OVER AGE 31 

Mrs. Annersley 
Oh, my dear madam, it's not every woman who 
can throw off a dozen years at will. It's a talent 
like any other. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
But perhaps I have the talent; perhaps I'm like 
the man who didn't know he could play the violin 
till he tried. I've never tried, because no one 
cared. You see I just let myself go, for years 
and years. I lived for my husband. I didn't men- 
tion before I had a husband. He was one of the 
kind that never noticed how I looked, what I had 
on. It didn't make any difference to him so long 
as the stew was right, not too thick, and the po- 
tatoes crisp. Once, or twice, on our wedding 
day for instance, I dressed up. I bought a fichu, 
a lace fichu. I've got it here in this bag. I put 
it on, hoping he'd notice it and like it. I felt just 
like a girl. '' Where did you get that? " he asked. 
" At Simpson's," said I. Simpson's is the little 
store near us. " What for? " says he. " What 
did you get it for? " Well, it just seemed as 
though I didn't know what I did get it for. So 1 
said nothing, and that night I laid it away with 
some other things I had when I was young. But 
even after that, sometimes in my room alone, I've 
had a feelings (Glances timidly about her.) 
as though I wanted to be young. One night I 



32 OVER AGE 

looked so pale and wan that I even tried with 
some roses, red roses I had on a bonnet. You 
know, the kind the colour comes off of. I rubbed 
them on my cheeks, and I looked like myself 
twenty years ago. I felt as though I could do most 
anything that I did then, sing or dance. I took 
some time that night doing up my hair, made it 
looser, fluffed it out. Of course I rubbed off the 
colour before I went out to dinner, but some of it 
must have stayed. "Been putting up jams?" 
^aid James; his name was James. "You look 
all het up." I guess I was born with ambitions, 
for I was often miserable, used to cry when I was 
alone because I amounted to so little! 

Mrs. An.nersley 
(Uneasy and somewhat moved) 
That's where you made a mistake. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
To cry? Yes, I know. Hurts the eyes and 
fades them out. 

Mrs. An.nersley 
To cry alone is always a mistake. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(Apparently not understanding) 

But I was so miserable. 



OVER AGE 33 

Mrs. Annersley 
When I'm miserable, everyone knows it. My 
servants, Leontlne, my son. I share my misery 
with the world. Hidden emotion is most wearing. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
You share it? And I, I've waited all day 
crushing back my tears, stifling my sighs, going 
about with a breaking heart, and smiling lips ; wait- 
ing for the dead of night, ashamed. For years 
I've been ashamed to show what I felt; ashamed 
to want to look pretty; afraid I'd seem conceited 
and foolish. You never feel foolish? 

Mrs. An.nersley 
Certainly not. It's my business. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(Resolutely) 
And now it's my business ! At last I don't feel 
foolish at all or vain. I have a reason for It all; 
a reason to be young; a reason greater than van- 
ity, greater than — 

(Breaks of abruptly as though realizing 
she has gone too far.) 

Mrs. Annersley 
(Curiously) 
This Is very interesting. What is your reason ? 
Who is it you want to please ? 



34 OVER AGE 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(Confused) 
Who? The world, everyone! 

Mrs. Annersley 
Some man? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

(Jumping at the suggestion) 

Yes, yes, I'm young here in my heart; just as 
young as ever I was, just as anxious to please. 

Mrs. Annersley 
But my dear woman — 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

(Quickly interrupting) 

I know you have wonderful black eyes, and 
lovely hair. Not a grey hair. But look at mine. 
(She pulls of her hat to plead her cause.) If it 
was combed smooth and glossed up, and dressed 
right. That's it ! I'm taking points from you all 
the while. I've got to learn quickly, and then I'll 
come out somewhere. You'll see, you'll see. I've 
never had the chance. I've lived in my kitchen 
while the world was going on, never dreaming 
what youth meant, and looks, and the real business 
of a woman. 



OVER AGE 35 

Mrs. Annersley 
How old Is he ? The man you love ? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
The man I love ! How old should you guess? 

Mrs. Annersley 
Well, he must be elderly; sixty or so, I should 
say. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
He's beautiful ! Young, blonde, fearless — 
twenty-five. 

Mrs. Annersley 
Twenty-five ? You ! If you can have a lover of 
twenty-five youVe young. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

But he — he — (Abruptly breaking of.) No, 
that's my secret. 

Mrs. Annersley 

Ah, he doesn't love you ! And you're trying to 
get him back? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

(Insisting upon comparing herself with the beau- 
tiful Julia Annersley^ 
You still please men, don't you? 



36 OVER AGE 

Mrs. Annersley 
But I always did ! 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

So did I once. See, that's the way I was, once. 
(Digs down into her hag and brings out a photo- 
graph.) My dress was pink. I never had but 
one pink dress, and it had a fichu of lace like the 
one I got at Simpson's. I've got it here. It gives 
me a long line like yours, the fichu does ; and I had 
little slippers with high heels. Oh, I can remem- 
ber how tall I felt in them ! And now my dress is 
dull and grey, and my shoes are broad and low, 
and I'm sloppy and old. 

Mrs. Annersley 

And in love with a boy twenty-five I 

(The actress folds her arms and looks at 
Sarah Mulqueen as from a height.) 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

Don't move! I'm learning! I'm learning! 
When I fold my arms I do it this way — (Stoop- 
ing and slopping over.) But you, you fold them 
high, like Napoleon. I've seen pictures of him. 

Mrs. Annersley 
He was short. So am I ! 



OVER AGE 37 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
And your high heels ! My shoes are disgrace- 
ful. I've really got pretty feet. Then your 
walk! Oh, I know how you glide. And your 
back is young, your shoulders straight. 

(Suddenly Mrs. Mulqueen picks up her 
hag.) \ 

Mrs. Annersley 

(Alarmed and remembering that she was to keep 

the spy at any cost) 

What are you going to do ? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
I've had my lesson. I wish you could see what 
it's done for me. I wish I could make myself 
pretty for you. I've some things in my bag ! If 
I only could — 

Mrs. Annersley 
(Completely roused) 
Wait a minute — I'll call my maid. You 
mustn't go! Leontine! (Leontine appears.) 
Leontine is very clever; she'll take you to my 
room ; she'll dress your hair ! Your feet are no 
larger than mine. She'll give you a pair of my 
slippers. She'll show you how to add a little col- 
our to your cheeks ! She's very clever. Go with 
her. Go; go! Leontine, make Madame beau- 



38 OVER AGE 

tiful, do your best. Then let me see how you 
look. Please; please! 

(Mrs. Annersley actually pushes her out 

with Leontine and then sinks exhausted 

into a chair.) 

(Annersley comes in cautiously.) 

Annersley 
(In an excited whisper) 
Well? Well? What do you think? 

Mrs. Annersley 
You heard what she said? 

Annersley 
(Nervously and beginning to wonder if he*s on the 
right track after all) 
She's clever, eh? 

Mrs. Annersley 
She wants to be beautiful for some man 1 

Annersley 
(Scornfully) 
Some man ! Don't you believe it. 

Mrs. Annersley 
She's a most interesting study; I never saw any- 
one quite like her. If one were to put her on the 
stage, no one would believe — 



OVER AGE 39 

Annersley 
(Breaking in, always with an eye on the door 
through which Sarah Mulqueen disap- 
peared^ and in a low voice) 
She's notorious! 

Mrs. Annersley 
It seems Incredible ! I'm sure you're wrong. 

Annersley 
Nonsense! I know all about her! She's a 
dreadful person! 

Mrs. Annersley 
Well, then, she's wonderful! 

Annersley 
(Knowingly) 
Precisely! That's what they all say. Don't 
let her fool you ! 

Mrs. Annersley 
But this woman is so timid, so faded. I can't 
make it out ! 

Annersley 
(With great superiority) 

I know! That's nothing. It's some sort of 
make-up. She's clever, wonderfully clever. I 
grant you that. But you were superb! We'll 
have the gratitude of the whole nation tomorrow! 



40 OVER AGE 

Mrs. An-nersley 
What are you going to do ? 

Annersley 
Do? Hand her over! What do you suppose? 

Mrs. Annersley 
(Still unconvinced) 
A spy with that make-up! Incredible! You 
heard her say she was going over to the other 
side? 

Annersley 
Yes — when ? 

Mrs. Annersley 
I don't know. 

Annersley 
She mustn't leave this house, Mater, till I'm 
ready; no matter what we sacrifice. I'll bet she's 
planning to blow up a transport this minute. 

Mrs. Annersley 
Hush, she's coming! 

Annersley 
Remember they said she'd never be taken alive ! 
(Mrs. Mulqueen enters^ transformed. 
Leontine has covered her hair with one 
of Mrs. Annersley's wigs. She has on 
the fichu from her hag. Her cheeks are 



OVER AGE 41 

rouged, her slippers are high-heeled. Her 
walk and her manner are quite different. 
She has thrown off twenty years.) 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

(Showing pleasure almost like a child, turns to 

Annersley) 

You don't know mt ! Do you now ? 

Annersley 
Well, you're wonderful! No one would know 
you ! I swear they wouldn't. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(With satisfaction) 

Yes. I'm the old lady that went out of here ! 
Am I young? Do I look natural? See my hair! 
How old do I look? 

Annersley 
(Slowly with cleverness) 
Let me see ! My mother tells me some man — 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(Following him eagerly) 
Yes — 

Annersley 
How old is he ? 



42 OVER AGE 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
Young; your age; twenty-five! 

Annersley 
Where Is he ? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
Over there — somewhere. I'll tell you some- 
things a secret; he's wounded and I'm going over 
to him. I can do my bit as well as the youngest. 
You believe me now when I look like this; now 
that I am no longer wrinkled and withered. I'm 
young, young. I haven't an ache or a pain. I'm 
going to him. I can do anything now, that youth 
and strength can do; anything, now that some- 
one isn't telling me I'm old and useless. 

Annersley 
Have you got your passport? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(Proudly) 
Yes; see! Sarah Mulqueen! 

(She hands him her passport,) 

Annersley 
By Jove! (Annersley takes the passport, ex- 
amines it carefully; grabs magnifying glass from 
table, shrugs and grunts out at a venture,) It's 
forged ! 



OVER AGE 43 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(Shrilly) 
Forged ! Not genuine ? 

Annersley 
No. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
But I've paid for It! 

Annersley 
You? What? 

Mrs: Mulqueen 

(More and more excited) 

You mean I can't go over on It! You mean — 
What do you mean? 

Annersley 

(Looking at her threateningly) 

I mean that Sarah Mulqueen Is an enemy alien! 
The Department of Justice has been hunting her 
for weeks. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

(As though appalled) 

An enemy — Sarah Mulqueen? Boy, do you 
know what you're saying? 



44 OVER AGE 

Annersley 

(More and more menacing) 

Yes. She and her gang have laid plans to blow 

up our boats in the harbour. We've been trailing 

her for weeks. I don't mind teUing you now we 

had almost given up hope when you — 

(The entrance of Mrs. Beaseley in great 
excitement interrupts; so excited is she that 
she takes even the transformed old lady 
for granted,) 

Mrs. Beaseley 

News ! Wonderful news ! The wounded of the 
38th Infantry are coming home. 

(Suddenly Mrs. Mulqueen appears to 
be on the verge of collapse; Annersley 
never takes his eyes of her.) 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

(Gasping) 
The 38th! 

Mrs. Annersley 
(Joyfully) 
Your boy I 

Mrs. Beaseley 
(In ecstasy) 
Yes, my Albert! 



OVER AGE 45 

Mrs. Annersley 
Oh, my dear friend ! 

Annersley 
(To Mrs. Mulqueen who is now strangely excited) 
What is it? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

(Between tears and smiles) 

The 38th! The 38th! That's my boy's regi- 
ment. He's wounded ; he's coming home ; my boy ! 
Uncle Sam has played fair; he's given me back my 
boy! 

Mrs. Annersley 
Your boy! 

Annersley 
Who are you? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

(With quivering lips) 

I'm the mother of a soldier in the 38th — the 
mother of a wounded boy — 

Annersley 
(Resentfully) 
You're not Sarah Mulqueen? 



46 OVER AGE 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
Bless you no! I'm the mother of a boy like 
you; only he's wounded. There was no place at 
his bedside for an old lady who happened to be 
his mother. I was trying to cheat to get over to 
him, to be with him, to nurse him. My husband 
was Colonel Andrews. My boy is Charlie An- 
drews. I came on to New York from Minne- 
apolis a year ago. Oh, I wanted so to go over. 
Can you understand it? I didn't realize I was too 
old. I only knew I was a mother. My age came 
upon me all of a heap when they looked at me 
and turned me down. That was before they knew 
I had a son over there. " Knit, knit," they said, 
*'Knit!" The old lady's job! But I didn't 
want to knit. I didn't want to sit at home and 
knit. Good Lord, that meant thinking! I told 
them I was willing to do anything. I'm vigorous* 
if I am more than 35. I can work as well as the 
youngest, and I can suffer and be silent. They 
turned me down when I told them the truth ; 
turned me down for silly girls in love with ad- 
venture; turned me down because I was a 
mother, a mother and fifty I And I made up my 
mind to cheat Uncle Sam, to go to my boy in spite 
of rules and regulations. I met Sarah Mulqueen. 
She's young and has no son to give. She sold me 
her passport, gave me her name in exchange for 
mine. Then I saw Mrs. Annersley, young and 



OVER AGE 47 

yet my age ; young with a son as old as mine. Do 
you see? And now Uncle Sam has played fair; 
he's bringing my boy home — (To Mrs. Bease- 
LEY.) Your boy and mine! (Recovering and 
crossing over to mirror.) I wonder if he'll know 
me this way ! What do you say, boy? 

Mrs. An.nersley 
(fVith conviction) 
She's telling the truth I 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(As if anyone could doubt it!) 
The truth? 

Annersley 
By thunder! I believe she is! I've made a 
fool of myself. What shall I do? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
What is it? What's wrong? 

Annersley 
(With sudden inspiration) 
Listen : If you can help hand Sarah Mulqueen 
over to the detectives, you'll be one of the greatest 
women of America! 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(Enjoying it hugely) 
I? Old Mrs. Andrews? Great? 



48 OFER AGE 

Annersley 
(Eagerly) 
Can you? Can you? 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

Can I ? Why, she's waiting for me now. I'm 
to give her another hundred dollars for her pass- 
port. I'll take you to her! 

Annersley 

(Suddenly) 

Good ! I'll be with you in just a minute. 

(Hurries out, closing the door after him.) 

Mrs. Mulqueen 

(With a sudden hurst of patriotism) 

Ah, there's work here for American women if 
they only knew it! 

Mrs. Annersley 

(Slowly relinquishing her own dream of adver- 
tisement) 

Mrs. Andrews of Minneapolis traps a spy! 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
(With savage determination) 
Leave her to me ! 



OVER AGE 49 

Mrs. An.nersley 
(After a moment's consideration joyously discov- 
ering some balm in Gilead) 
Trap set in the home of Julia Annersleyl 

(The three women smile happily ^ each in 
her own way, when in through the door 
bursts Annersley.) 

Annersley 
(Breathless with excitement) 
It is I It is! She is Sarah Mulqueen! Lock 
the doors ! (He locks one while the women fly to 
the others.) I've just been talking to head- 
quarters! She and her pal were out together; 
they caught the pal but she escaped; slipped into 
this house ; intending to appear in a new disguise 
from new quarters. Knew you lived here, Mater! 
It was all planned ! Her pal has confessed. 

Mrs. Mulqueen 
Damn him ! (Recognizing that the game is up, 
she suddenly reveals herself with startling vulgar- 
ity.) The dirty little hound ! Well, I'll die game ! 
And don't any of you forget how I fooled the 
great Julia Annersley! Some acting, eh? And 
I'd have got away with it too — if — if — God, 
how I hate all men ! 

(Snarling and struggling viciously in An- 
nersley's hands, as the curtain falls.) 



THE SPARK OF LIFE 



CHARACTERS 



Mrs. Barstable 
The Nurse 
Dr. Cartwright 
Dr. Walker 



THE SPARK OF LIFE 

7^ HE curtain rises on an empty sta^e, dis- 
closing a luxurious living room in a mod- 
em apartment house. 

A single doorway opens into the hall, which ap- 
parently leads on the left to the front door, on the 
right to the dining room, and beyond to the bed- 
room. 

The room is essentially cheerful. Everything 
in it suggests home and people of taste. There 
are books and magazines, and vases of flowers on 
the tables, harmonious draperies at the windows, 
comfortable chairs, an open piano. A small al- 
cove hung with red curtains is on one side. The 
curtains are open so that a luxurious couch with 
cushions may be seen, a becoming background for 
the Mistress of the house. 

Into this cosy scene a woman enters quickly. 
She is Mrs. Barstable. She is good looking, 
well groomed, pale and tense. One can see plainly 
that she is on the verge of collapse. She makes a 
tremendous effort and succeeds in recovering some 
of her self-control, as the NuRSE enters, 

S3 



54 THE SPARK OF LIFE 

Nurse 
Mr. Barstable is asking for an extra pillow. 

Mrs. Barstable 

(Indicating the couch in the alcove) 

You may take one of those silk ones. Oh, 
Nurse, when the doctors come out of Mr. Bar- 
stable's room, show them in here where they can 
be alone. I'll see them after the consultation. 

Nurse 
They're coming right out now. 

(The Nurse exits. Mrs. Barstable 
moves to the table, takes a pistol from the 
drawer, and, listening all the time for the 
coming of the doctors, places it somewhere 
out of sight. There is a sound of voices 
outside. She quickly crosses to the red 
curtains and conceals herself behind them 
as Dr. Walker and Dr. Cartwright 
enter.) 

Dr. Walker 

(In a low voice, with visible concern, as though 
continuing a conversation) 

Nothing to be done, eh? 

Dr. Cartwright 
Nothing. 



THE SPARK OF LIFE 55 

Dr. Walker 

And everything to be feared? 

(Dr. Cartwright nods gravely.) 

Dr. Cartwright 
(After a pause) 
Has he a family? 

Dr. Walker 
Just the wife, who adores him. They were 
such pals. I've known him all my life. I'm 
much more his friend than his doctor, you under- 
stand. Why we've lived In the same house for 
twenty years. I've the key to their front door: 
their home Is mine. (Dr. Cartwright nods 
sympathetically,) He never had a day's Illness, 
never In all the years I've known him. Frightful ! 
A man of his physique! Such an end! His 
poor wife! What shall I tell her! When she 
finds out that it's hopeless — 
(Breaks of uneasily.) 

Dr. Cartwright 
Oh, she won't; she needn't know for a time; 
not till — 

(Makes a hopeless gesture.) 

Dr. Walker 
He had a horror of disease. I've heard him 
say he'd kill himself if ever he had warning. 



56 THE SPARK OF LIFE 

Dr. Cartwright 
Oh, that was when he was sound and strong. 
You'll find an entirely different man; with a new 
philosophy. The hospitals are full of them: 
brave fellows — heroes, who'll play the game to 
the end. 

Dr. Walker 
If only those cursed Germans had killed him 
outright I Poor Jack, doomed to live God knows 
how long I Paralysed, maimed, helpless — 

(Both men pull up sharply and look to- 
wards the curtains. Mrs. Barstable 
stands in front of them, ashen.) 

Dr. Walker 

(Uneasily) 

Jack is — we were just — we must talk things 
over — see what's best to be done. 

Mrs. Barstable 

(Deadly calm) 

I know — I heard. 

(She sinks into a chair with a hopeless 
gesture.) 

Dr. Cartwright 
(Uncomfortably) 
Too bad. 



THE SPARK OF LIFE 57 

Dr. Walker 
(Almost irritably) 
Really Ella, we should have told you In due 
time. 

Mrs. Barstable 
(With emphasis) 
What it w as good for me to know. 

Dr. Walker 
Well, well; after all we must have faith. 

Mrs. Barstable 
(Interrupting with despairing insistency) 
The end is inevitable ! And what an end ! 

Dr. Cartwright 
Oh, now — now — our wounded men are won- 
derful ! Give your husband time ; you'll see ; time 
works wonders. Dr. Walker will do everything 
possible and I'll see you again in a few days. 

Mrs. Barstable 

(Suddenly springing to her feet) 

Wait — wait just a minute ! Wait I I have a 

proposition to make to you. (She throws hack 

her head and the colour rushes to her cheeks.) 

Kill him I 

(She says this calmly^ without the slight- 
est hint of hysteria.) 



58 THE SPARK OF LIFE 

Dr. Cartwright 
(Gruffly) 

'Nonsense ; nonsense ; you shouldn't upset your- 
self in this way. Be brave, brave as our splendid 
boys. 

Dr. Walker 

You're overwrought, Ella I I don't wonder. 
I'm going to give you and Jack something to make 
you sleep ; both of you need it. 

Dr. Cartwright 
Yes, yes. 

Mrs. Barstable 
Eternally ? 

Dr. Walker 
(Almost impatiently) 
Oh, come — come ! 

Dr. Cartwright 
You'll find that your husband will gradually ac- 
commodate himself, believe me. 

Mrs. Barstable 

Never ! 

Dr. Cartwright 
I assure you ; you'll see. 

(Enter the NuRSE with a box of flowers.) 



THE SPARK OF LIFE 59 

Nurse 
Mr. Barstable is asking for you, madam. 

Mrs. Barstable 
(Suddenly regaining control of herself) 

I'll go up. 

Nurse 
These flowers just came. 

Mrs. Barstable 
(Quite calmly) 

Arange them for me, please, — here in one of 
these vases. (Turning to doctors.) Oh, I'm 
all right now; quite calm, quite myself again. I 
know it's your office hour, George. (To Dr. 
Walker.J Don't wait, but come back. You 
will, won't you ? 

( The Nurse exits with the vase, leaving 
the flowers on the table.) 

Dr. Walker 
Surely, at the first minute. 

(Mrs. Barstable exits.) 

Dr. Cartwright 
I must run on now. If you need me, let me 
know. 

(Both men leave the room together talk- 
ing; the front door is heard to shut, as the 



6o THE SPARK OF LIFE 

Nurse returns with a vase of water. Dr. 
Walker follows her into the room almost 
immediately,) 

Dr. Walker 
Now, Nurse, Mrs. Barstable is naturally much 
overwrought. She must have something to make 
her sleep ; I'll be back with some powders for her. 
(Dr. Walker exits and the sound of the 
front door closing again is heard. The 
Nurse left alone hums as she arranges the 
flowers. She is still busy when Mrs. Bar- 
stable enters^ locking the door behind her^ 
swiftly and softly. She is completely calm, 
but in the few minutes she has been out of 
the room she seems to have aged years.) 

Nurse 
(Holding up the flowers in the vase) 
Aren't they beautiful? 

Mrs. Barstable 
(Distractedly) 
Yes — yes — 

Nurse 
Shall I take them up to Mr. Barstable? 

Mrs. Barstable 
Presently. 



THE SPARK OF LIFE 6i 

Nurse 
Is he alone? 

Mrs. Barstable 
I think so. 

(Through all this the Nurse keeps look- 
ing at Mrs. Barstable whose manner 
seems to her unusual^ to say the least.) 

Nurse 
(Uneasily) 
I'll go up. (Crosses to the door and finds it 
locked.) What does this mean ! Why have you 
locked the door? 

Mrs. Barstable 
(Firmly) 
To give my husband a chance. 

Nurse 
A chance at what? 

Mrs. Barstable 

(Dispassionately ) 
To get out of it! He's doomed. There's no 
hope. Sit down. (The Nurse recoils horrified.) 
There's no use, you know. There's nothing for 
you to do ; you can't help it. You might as well be 
calm. I've promised him his chance, and he's 
going to have it. 



62 THE SPARK OF LIFE 

Nurse 
You mean — ? that you? 

Mrs. Barstable 
Yes; precisely. (The Nurse tries to reach the 
window. Mrs. Barstable picks up the pistol^ 
which she has concealed for just this emergency , 
resolutely.) Sit down. When I am ready you 
may leave this room; not before. 

Nurse 
My God! It's murder! 

Mrs. Barstable 
(With conviction) 
If it is, it's righteous murder! You'd kill an 
animal if it were suffering. A human being asks 
for a chance and you won't give it to him — you 
with your medical ethics! It's his life; he has a 
right to do as he pleases with it. 

( The Nurse, hy this time completely ter- 
ror-stricken, falls into a chair.) 

Nurse 
You're mad! 

Mrs. Barstable 
I never was more sane in my life, and neither 
was he. 



THE SPARK OF LIFE 63 

Nurse 
He's not; he's a sick man; you've no right; it's 
taking advantage of him. 

Mrs. Barstable 
(Beginning triumphantly , and ending in pitiable 
choking sobs) 
I gave him my word, and I've kept it as he'd 
have kept his ! When we were both well and 
strong in the midst of health and beauty — happy, 
young, free — we made a solemn compact. It 
was at Aix les Bains, at the Hotel de L'Europe. 
Oh, we had such pretty rooms there, full of sun- 
shine, on the corner, with a balcony, and a view. 
Children were playing under our windows; colour, 
light, happiness everywhere. It had been rain- 
ing; the air was full of the scent of flowers. Only 
to be alive was a joy! At the Casino they were 
playing the waltz from " Romeo and Juliet." 
Great Heaven, it's all as fresh as though it had 
happened yesterday ! Suddenly over the graveled 
walk there came towards us in a wheel-chair a 
pitiful, doomed creature with acute senses and de- 
formed limbs — the semblance of a man! 
Guarded lest he might get his chance to make a 
decent exit. We stood looking at him. My hus- 
band exclaimed: "Why do they keep him alive? 
Look at his eyes! He wants to go!" The 
plan's eyes — they haunted him. " If he be- 



64 THE SPARK OF LIFE 

longed to me, he'd have a chance to get out! '* he 
said, " Poor wretch; condemned to die, to suffer 
without hope, while specialists consult, while 
friends pity and compare notes. May the Lord 
deliver me from such a fate ! Promise me, Kate, 
that you'll give me my chance. It may be upon 
me before I suspect, and it's hard for a dying 
man to get enough of the right stuff." On that 
day we solemnly swore that if such a fate ever 
overtook one of us the other would provide the 
means to get out. Thank God I've had the cour- 
age to keep my word. 

Nurse 
(After a pause, gently) 

But now — now — how do you know your 
husband doesn't want to Hve ? 

Mrs. Barstable 
How do I know? My husband? Live like 
that? To become a thing? The thing they said 
he was bound to be? 

Nurse 

(Desperately) 

What you're doing is a crime! It's murder! 

Mrs. Barstable 
It's a gentleman's death. 



THE SPARK OF LIFE 65 

Nurse 
(Under stress of great excitement) 
You — you — What have you given him ? 
How did you get it? 

Mrs. Barstable 

(Almost with cunning) 

Ever since I heard Jack was wounded I've been 

collecting it. A few drops here, a few drops 

there; for my suffering dog; for an aching tooth; 

for neuralgia ; half a bottle in all I 

Nurse 
(Seeing a ray of hope) 
It's an overdose! Thank God! 

Mrs. Barstable 
Oh, no ; I know the dose ! I poured it out and 
placed it within easy reach of his hand. 

Nurse 
(Still clutching at a straw) 
Oh, then there's hope ! 

Mrs. Barstable 
Hope of what? 

Nurse 
You didn't give it to him? 



66 THE SPARK OF LIFE 

Mrs. Barstable 
No, it wasn't necessary. I left it for him right 
at his hand. 

Nurse 
He may not take it. 

Mrs. Barstable 
Not take it? If ever a man knew what he 
wanted it was Jack Barstable! 

Nurse 
(Wildly) 
Yes, before — before ! But not now. Since 
he's been over there and seen — 

Mrs. Barstable 
He knew exactly what I meant when I leaned 
over him. I could see it in his eyes! I placed 
the bottle beside him, with a glass of water, in case 
he — (Breaking of with a shudder.) It's bit- 
ter stuff, I know. 

Nurse 
(In agony) 
How could you ? 

Mrs. Barstable 

(Now quivering and barely able to control 
herself) 
His hand clasped mine for a minute. Then I 



THE SPARK OF LIFE 67 

could stand it no longer ! I fled — here — to 
you — so that he might be free — free — 

Nurse 
Let me go to him ! 

Mrs. Barstable 

Not quite yet; I know my Jack; he must have 
time. One last look around our room — a few 
minutes to think — to pray. My picture is be- 
side him on the little table, the one he likes best. 
He'll touch it softly. Then — he may not be able 
to overcome an involuntary shudder, brave as he 
is — 

Nurse 

Oh, how awful ! 

Mrs. Barstable 
He'll have a spasm of pain, perhaps — some 
nausea. Then deadly cold and moist. Then un- 
consciousness — blessed unconsciousness. 

Nurse 
Let me go ! Open the door ! 

Mrs. Barstable 
My Jack — my Jack — It's done ! It's done ! 
You may go to him now ! Go — go — It's over — 
(She throws the key at the Nurse who un- 
locks the door and dashes from the room. 



68 THE SPARK OF LIFE 

Mrs. Barstable stands listening a mo- 
ment. Then she takes from her dress a 
small phial and swallows the contents at 
one gulp. Her hand instinctively goes 
out to Jack's picture lying on the table; 
clasping it to her she gropes her way of to 
the curtained recess. The front door is 
heard to open as she disappears. And 
now the Nurse is seen rushing back 
through the hall.) 

Nurse 
(Speaking outside in great excitement) 
Oh, Doctor Walker ! Thank God you've 
come! Such a scene! (Then the voices grow 
confused, as she explains, still outside, what hap- 
pened.) Mrs. Barstable . . . yes, a compact 
. . . poison . . . she left the bottle . . . within 
reach of his hand . . . told me he was going to 
kill himself! Oh, I can't stay here any longer. 
It's awful! I've never had an accident. (The 
Nurse begins to regain her equanimity as she ap- 
pears at the door with Dr. Walker. They enter 
the room together.) But he didn't — he didn't 
take it! Not a drop passed his lips! I'd never 
have forgiven myself if anything had happened! 

Doctor 
But nothing did happen, thank God ! 



THE SPARK OF LIFE 69 

Nurse 
No, no; he actually joked with me; he says he's 
a famous patient; he wants to live. 

Doctor 
Bully for Jack! Bully! 

Nurse 
I don't think he had an Idea of what was in the 
bottle ! He's forgotten the compact and all the 
rest — but where Is she ? Mrs. Barstable ? 

Doctor 
Why, Isn't she with him ? 

Nurse 
No, she was here ! I thought you — 

Doctor 
No» I haven't seen her; I just came in. 

Nurse 
I left her here. 

Doctor 
Perhaps she — (The Nurse gives a quick 
look outside and comes hack shaking her head.) 
Perhaps the maids — or — Isn't she with him? 

Nurse 
I just came from there ! No — no — 



70 THE SPARK OF LIFE 

(A groan or sigh comes from behind the 
curtains. The Doctor dashes over and 
flings them open as Mrs. Barstable rolls 
of the couch to the floor. He kneels be- 
side her; listens; looks up; shakes his head. 
She is dead.) 

Nurse 
And he — - he Is alive ! He wants to live ! He 
wants to see it through to the end ! 



Curtain. 



STRANGERS 



CHARACTERS 

A Writer 
A Caller 
A Woman 



STRANGERS 

M LUXURIOUS living room or den open- 
/l ingi into a hall which leads to the front 
jL X door. As the owner of it happens to be a 
successful writer it is equipped with a commodious 
writing desk and plenty of books, besides easy 
chairs, harmonious draperies and good looking 
rugs. A table set with sandwiches, bottles, 
glassts, etc., and an open fire add an air of ex- 
pectancy to the scene. 

Indeed as the curtain rises two men are enter- 
ing. One of them is the Writer himself, a 
quiet, receptive person, as any author in search of 
material may be, careful of his own wares while 
graciously attentive to the display of those in other 
mental store-houses. The other is a Caller, 
somewhat too rotund, perhaps, for distinction, but 
well dressed and completely at ease: a glib talker, 
not at all awed by the reticence of his companion. 
On the contrary. 

Caller 

If I may, I'll come in just for a moment. I 
remember you said you were going to be busy. 

73 



74 STRANGERS 

Writer 
Yes, presently, when I get at it. 

(He pushes a chair invitingly forward.) 

Caller 
(Looking around with interest, taking note of 
things) 
So this is your home ! 

Writer 
(Crosses to desk and appears to he rearranging 
everything on it) 
Well, it's a place where I can lose myself. Com- 
fortable, with all the conveniences, and no one to 
bother me. My servant goes off early, I sleep 
while she works and vice versa. She leaves me 
a bite here, serves my breakfast at any old hour, 
disarranges things and disappears. 

Caller 
(Still looking about) 
The scene of your experiences? 

Writer 
Yes, I never go around in search of material; 
I don't sit on park benches or ride about in sub- 
ways and buses. What I write is from my inner 
consciousness. Though tonight I'll confess I'm 
at my wits' end, (He crosses to table.) A glass 



STRANGERS 75 

of cognac, before you go ! It may give me a new 
view point; I've felt all day as though I were look- 
ing at a blank wall. (Both drink.) In front of 
me a sheet of paper to be covered and nothing to 
cover it with. We get that way; sometimes it 
lasts hours, sometimes days. 

Caller 
What I envy you is this solitude. 

Writer 

But you, you're a married man? (He breaks 
of with a question. The other nods.) Home, 
and all that sort of thing! Children, perhaps? 

Caller 

(Who is now comfortably seated) 

Strange how we club acquaintances know noth- 
ing of one another. We meet daily, exhibit pic- 
tures that reveal nothing, tell stories, exchange 
views that are impersonal, drink together, eat to- 
gether, and there it ends. Suddenly we pick up a 
paper and read a scandal, a death, a wedding, and 
the identity of our club friend is revealed. 
(Pause.) What a shock, poor Egbert Kelly, eh? 
(Lighting a cigarette.) 

Writer 
He seemed a mild, pleasant fellow. 



76 STRANGERS 

Caller 

He used to appear and disappear at the club 
like any of the rest of us, always gay, generous, 
companionable, and all the time this burden on his 
soul. Couldn't make both ends meet and none 
of us suspected. Strangers all of us, under one 
roof! (Pause.) You've no ties? 



Writer 



No. 



Caller 

Lucky man ! And yet I only want to be untied 
to tie up again. You may think it's indelicate my 
speaking frankly like this to one who five minutes 
ago was practically a stranger, but I feel tonight 
as though you had suddenly been revealed to me. 
These rooms of yours have an atmosphere, they're 
human. You have tastes. Why I didn't know 
you were a writer till the other day. I mean I 
didn't know you were the Drayton. You see, 
honestly, I've never read you. My wife attends 
to that end of things. I've seen your books about 
on the tables, together with the magazines. I'm 
not much of a reader. She sits up half the night 
with a book in her hand. I often find her when I 
go home, late — early. Till now I've always 
gone home. 



STRANGERS 77 

Writer 
It's got to that stage, has It? 

Caller 

Yes, so far, and no distance at all. My wife is 
one of those domestic creatures, a woman of no 
Imagination, content In the present; living from 
day to day, secure in her happiness; never dream- 
ing — (He pauses as though words were in- 
adequate.) If she sees me restless she says af- 
fairs down town have been going badly with me; 
or she speaks of Indigestion, or late hours, or 
sleepless nights, or God knows what! Oh, I've 
heard her explain me over and over to the others 
of our set with imaginations as limited as hers. 

Writer 
(Dryly) 
It must be gratifying to know at least she's not 
suspicious. 

Caller 

As to that I'm not sure. Sometimes I wish she 
understood. Her calmness, her security exas- 
perate me. She knows me as little after all these 
years, knows as little of my life, of my desires and 
dreams as you do, you who until tonight have 
never seen me outside of the club. 



78 STRANGERS 

Writer 

(Curiously) 

Is it possible that you never betray yourself? 

Caller 

Why, yes, I've thought I did; in fact there have 
been moments when I didn't care whether I did 
or not; even more, when I've wanted to, to have it 
over, to have her know me as I am. Imagine, 
I've come in at four, at five, in the morning. I've 
heard her voice saying, " Been to the club? 
Pleasant evening? " And when I've growle'd 
out, " Don't know, didn't go there," she's turned 
over and gone to sleep. 
(Pause.) 

Writer 

I don't want to make myself disagreeable, but 
perhaps she may have grown — er — become in- 
different. 

Caller 

Her feelings are as transparent as crystal. She 
darns my socks herself, keeps an eye on my clothes, 
orders for my meals the dishes she thinks I like 
on the chance I may come home, and all that sort 
of thing. No, my friend, she regards her posi- 
tion as impregnable. That's what I can't un- 
derstand. She's perfectly satisfied. Not a hint 



STRANGERS 79 

of the mine under her very feet, the mine that 
some day is sure to explode. 
(Pause.) 

Writer 
I take it, she's — I mean you have nothing 
really against her? 

Caller 
Oh, Lord no; she's absolutely everything she 
should be. She hasn't even an extravagance. 
She's without courage, without temptations, with- 
out — well, I know where she is every hour; her 
life is an open page. If I were to go home now 
I'd find her In our perfectly commonplace sitting- 
room, dozing over a book. Forgive me for bor- 
ing you with the same old story. 

Writer 
It has a new turn, always. 

Caller 
(Explosively) 
The woman is an angel ! 

Writer 
(Rather amused) 
Not your wife this time ! 

Caller 
Some day you may hear about me, Eberle; that 



8o STRANGERS 

he, that I — well that Mrs. Eberle wants a di- 
vorce. At all events you won't say — " Eberle, 
the man I used to meet at the club ! " At least 
I've revealed myself. I feel better. And you — 
well, I know where you live ! 

(Breaking off with a smile.) 

Writer 
Oh, I ! — I've no history. I'm given over to 
work. Perhaps some day, somewhere, out of 
heaven, perhaps — who knows ? 

Caller 
You're going to work all night? 

Writer 
I hope so, if I can. 

Caller 
I'm off. Thank you, and Good-night. 

(The Writer goes with him out into the 
hall,' re-enters, — leaving the door half 
open. He disappears into an adjoining 
room, changes his coat and then returns to 
his desk. Suddenly in the doorway there 
appears a Woman. At the first glance, she 
is rather insignificant. One would pass 
her in the street for instance and not no- 
tice her in her dark clothes and small hat. 
She has thrown back her veil but none the 



STRANGERS 8i 

less, even when she slips in and closes the 
door, she does it without a hint of bra- 
vado.) 

Writer 
(Sharply) 
What is it? 

Woman 
(Anxiously) 
I — please don't be cross. Let me tell you — 

Writer 
(Interrupting) 
Yes, yes, what is it? How did you get in here? 

Woman 
I just slipped in out of the street as the door 
was opened. It's cold out. 
(Shivering.) 

Writer 
Why, yes, but you musn't; I'm busy. I can^t 
be interrupted. 

Woman 
I won't interrupt. I'll be very quiet. 

Writer 
No, that won't do. You must go. You've no 
right to come into people's houses. You know 
that. 



82 STRANGERS 

Woman 
I never did it before! But tonight it seemed 
to me I must. 

Writer 
Now look here, young woman — 

(He begins harshly ^ but she looks suddenly 
so pathetic that he breaks of and offers her 
money instead.) 

Woman 
No, no! That isn't what I came for! I'm 
not that — what you think. 

Writer 
(Curiously) 

No? 

Woman 
No I'm cold and hungry. 

Writer 
(Crosses over to the table where bottles are; stops 
just as he is going to offer her some cognac) 
You may go in there, in the kitchen, and make 
yourself a cup of tea. There are sandwiches on 
that table. You may have some. Then you must 
be off. \ 

(The Woman exits into the kitchen. The 
Writer ^wrw5 again to the table ^ and his 
papers. She returns presently^ with her 



STRANGERS 83 

teacup, crosses to the window and stands 
stirring her tea, remarkably like a lady.) 

Writer 
I thought you said you were hungry. 

Woman 
I am. 

Writer 
Well then, why don't you eat ? I told you you 
might have a sandwich. 

Woman 
It doesn't always mean food, hunger doesn't. 
I'm hungry for something else. 

(She looks at him long and earnestly.) 

Writer 
Nonsense, you've never seen me before. You 
can't possibly have fallen in love with me. 

Woman 
I didn't say I had. 

Writer 
(Somewhat disconcerted) 
Oh! 

Woman 
Certainly not. Your reasoning is perfectly cor- 
rect. But I have seen you before. I've seen you 



84 STRANGERS 

— well I've seen you, and IVe read you. So I 
know you a little. 

Writer 
Ah, Indeed! 

Woman 
Yes, that's one reason why I'm here tonight. 

Writer 
I don't understand. 

Woman 
I thought you might help me. 

Writer 
Then you're not — not — 

Woman 
A woman of the street? Of course not! You 
know better than that. That only happens In 
plays, or books. Arnold Bennett, Haddon Cham- 
bers — you — PInero even! Of course it's not 
true. 

Writer 
I don't see why It shouldn't be as true as this ! 
You out of the night — here — now — 

Woman 
(Smiling sweetly) 
Yes, I'm the heroine of a new plot. You might 
like It. Or are plots easy to find? 



STRANGERS 85 

Writer 
No, they're damned difficult — I beg your par- 
don. 

Woman 

(Easily) 
Oh, In the circumstances — 

Writer 
(Suddenly conscious that he has remained seated) 
Sit down, won't you ? 

Woman 
You don't want me to go now ? 

Writer 
Why no ! Not if you'll stay. I'd like to hear 
your story, now that you're here. 

Woman 
(Suddenly) 
Do you mind if I open the window? What 
with the smoke and all that it's very close. (Be- 
fore he can answer she has opened it and is stand- 
ing so that an electric light shines full upon her.) 
Look! 

(He comes up behind her.) 

Writer 
What is it? 



86 STRANGERS 

Woman 

Oh, nothing, I was mistaken. I thought — it 
looked like a fire. My nerves are a bit unstrung. 
I see things tonight. 

(She crosses hack into the room. He 

pulls down the shade.) 

Writer 
So you want help ? 

Woman 
Advice. You've seen so many heroines 
through, always to a happy end, no matter how 
dreadful their beginnings, no matter how sordid 
their rise. I thought perhaps — 

Writer 

Well, if I can be of service. You realize, of 
course, that anyone can begin a story or a play. 
Anyone can write a first act or a first chapter. 
But when it comes to development, to the work- 
ing out of a conclusion that will at the same time 
satisfy the publisher and the reader — 
(He pauses for the right word.) 

Woman 
(Sympathetically) 
And one's conscience ! It must be difficult. 



STRANGERS 87 

Writer 
(Smiling! tolerantly) 
I'm glad you understand. 

Woman 
If I begin at the beginning I hope it won't bore 
you. 

Writer 
It won't, I'm sure. 

Woman 

(She is sitting now) 
Well, then, imagine me good looking, more so 
than I am now, better dressed, more careful as I 
look back at it, though making my own living. 
Oh, I wrote too, a little, so you see I'm sympa- 
thetic to your needs. I know how hard it is to 
grind out enough to live. Well, my evolution 
from a plain, everyday, very tired woman, writing 
to live, was simple, — gradual, of course. I 
didn't fall in love at first sight. Neither did he. 
We met accidentally. I went to interview him for 
an article for some magazine. He was most 
courteous, told me all I wanted to know, the 
details of his rise, which had been electric. No, 
you understand I'd sooner not describe him too ac- 
curately. You can fill in for yourself; make him 
a banker or railroad man or broker, it makes no 
difference. He was very much in the limelight at 



88 STRANGERS 

that time. Now he's not. He has settled down. 
Well, that was the beginning. He was married 
and I became — (Slight pause.) the other 
woman. That didn't last very long. I mean my 
anomalous position. 

Writer 
(Quickly) 
You met someone else ? 

Woman 
Not at all. 

Writer 
You grew tired of each other? 

Woman 
No, on the contrary we kept on together. 

Writer 
In your anomalous position? 

Woman 
No, his wife died. I took her place. 

Writer 
He married you ? 

Woman 
Yes. 



STRANGERS 89 

Writer 
(Frankly disappointed) 
Well, well. 

Woman 
Not so very unusual, rm sorry. (With a curl 
of the lips.) I appreciate that it's scarcely drama, 
but It Is a fact. She died, simply died, became 111 
and died, the way people do every day. I never 
met her, there was no scandal, no gossip even. 
She died. I was Introduced to his people, his set. 
We were married. I tried to live up to his stand- 
ards; I say ''up '' for I was supposed to have risen 
with my marriage. We both settled down to the 
security of It. He, sure of me, dead sure. Well, 
he was right. I have a great deal of pride and a 
strong sense of duty. I settled down to be like 
every woman I saw, every woman In our set, his 
set more than mine, commonplace, deadly respect- 
able, prudent, serene, unimaginative, virtuous, 
never over-enthuslastic, never desperately dis- 
gusted. Oh, there was a time when I used to be 
both In the same minute! Honest! But I had 
outgrown my past, I actually liked that humdrum, 
middle class set and I thought he did. I should 
have known better — I who had once been the 
other woman ! Such an advantage for a wife ! 
And I neglected It. He found Paradise monoto- 
nous, missed his little serpent. And now I am 



90 STRANGERS 

the wife, the stay at home, not so young as she 
once was, deceived wife. Only I'm not deceived. 

Writer 
What kind of a woman is she ? 

Woman 

She's younger than I am. She lives alone, 
she has no domestic worries, I mean servants, 
food, and things like that. She's on a higher 
plane. She's very careful of her background 
though. It's very lovely, made up of becoming 
colours ; open fire, pink lights and all that sort of 
thing. And she dotes on his stories, the very old- 
est of them isn't too old for her ! Then she's very 
dependent, appealing, very much In need of pro- 
tection. He loves her for the dangers she is pass- 
ing through ! And when you consider they're for 
him, all for him! Oh, they've been through a 
great deal together, confronted by the same men- 
ace — me ! 

Writer 
(Really interested) 

So you've met her, talked to her? 

Woman 
No, no. I haven't an Idea who she is. 

Writer 
But I thought you said — 



STRANGERS 91 

Woman 
(Almost impatiently) 
Oh, they're all alike In essentials. I know she 
exists; the rest follows. (After a slight pause 
she resumes reflectively,) Of course I could find 
her somehow, entreat her to give him up, win her 
sympathy, and return home. You remember that 
scene of Leonard Merrick's in the " Bishop's 
Comedy " ? Adorable, isn't it ! But that isn't for 
all wives. It takes a certain kind of woman and 
a certain kind of man. Or I might die. But a 
husband doesn't have that kind of luck twice. Do 
you begin to see why I want your help ? 

Writer 
(Almost reproachfully) 
Well, it's not exactly a new plot, is it? It's 
always interesting, of course. 

Woman 
Give it time — it may take a new turn. 

(He looks at her doubtfully. Just then 
there is a knock at the door. His look 
changes to one of consternation.) 

Woman 
(Quickly; completely mistress of the situation) 
I'll go back and make some more tea. 

(She disappears into the kitchen. The 



92 STRANGERS 

Writer opens the door and the Caller 
enters,) 

Caller 

I beg your pardon, but did I — er — drop my 
glove here? I hope I'm not interrupting — 
your work. 

Writer 

Why, I was just trying — your glove ? No, I 
haven't seen it. What colour was it? (The 
Caller dangles a tan-coloured glove in 
his face.) Oh, I see — no — 

Caller 
I — your servant couldn't have carried it out ? 

Writer 
I have no servant ; no one here at night. 

Caller 

Yes, to be sure. I remember you said so. Per- 
haps in the other room — you might have carried 
it in there. 

Writer 

No. I haven't been out of this room. 

Caller 
I must have been mistaken. 



STRANGERS 93 

Writer 
Yes. I fear so. If it should turn up — but 
I'm sure it isn't here. (There is a loud clash from 
the kitchen. An awkward pause follows.) The 
partitions are so thin, one can hear every sound. 
A maid may have come in. 

Caller 
I should think it would disturb you, — I mean 
the thin partitions, the noise. 

Writer 
(He doesn't actually say, '' Must you go? '' But 
he looks it) 
One gets accustomed to anything. Sorry about 
the glove. Hope you'll find it 

Caller 

Oh, it doesn't matter — just thought perhaps 
— Pardon the intrusion. Good-night I 

(He exits. The Writer quickly closes 
the door. The Woman re-enters.) 

Writer 
What in thunder did you do that for? 

Woman 
What? 

Writer 
That clatter out there I 



94 STRANGERS 

Woman 
I didn't break anything. 

Writer 
Oh, that's not it ! Here I am, wasting my time, 
getting out of the writing mood, disturbed — 
annoyed — (The Woman crosses to the win- 
dow and raises the blind.) What the devil! 
Come away from that window 1 

Woman 
Why? 

Writer 
Because — come away I say ! 

(He goes toward her, intent upon getting 
between her and the window. Suddenly , 
without warning and without provocation, 
she puts her hand on his arm.) 

Writer 
(Indignantly) 
What are you doing? Why — you mustn't! 
(She comes away from the window, 
smiling as though completely satisfied.) 

Woman 
That's all ! He has seen ! 

Writer 
Who? What? 



STRANGERS 95 

Woman 

My husband. I promised you something new. 
That man, your visitor, was my husband. I'm 
just a wife trying a new stunt. You see I fol- 
lowed you both Into the house. I waited, hidden 
in the hall, for him to go out. He saw me, I made 
sure of that. I had on a heavy veil, but my figure 
was familiar. He couldn't believe his eyes. I 
tried to appear as at home in the house as I could, 
I walked quickly as though I knew where I was 
going. Luckily this door was open. I came in as 
though I had been here before. He waited out- 
side in — oh, I hope it was what one might call an 
agony of Impatience ! Then he came back. You 
and I did the rest. He thinks — he thinks — 

Writer 
Good God ! 

Woman 

I'm very grateful to you. But after all you've 
something to thank me for. I've given you a plot ; 
you know you hadn't a story in your head ! 

Writer 

(Succumbing for the moment to the interest of the 
occasion) 

But what's the end? How does it end? 



96 STRANGERS 

Woman 
That's your business. That's what I came here 
to get from you. 

Writer 
( Uncomfortably) 
But I shall have to tell him — 

Woman 
Never! You wouldn't do that! Oh, you 
wouldn't ! 

Writer 
But he'll think — why, that I — 

Woman 
What's the dilference what he thinks? He 
wouldn't believe you anyway. You see you did 
deny my being here, you did help me to hide. 

Writer 
(Sullenly) 
You hid yourself. 

Woman 
Why, he knows me so well that he would never 
in the world believe that I would come here in 
spite of you. I want him back, not because I'm 
madly in love with him, but because I should be 
such a miserable failure if I couldn't keep him, 
and with my advantages too — the halo of having 
once been that woman, the other one ! You see 



STRANGERS 97 

this will show him, that I still have undiscovered 
depths not dreamed of by him, though we live in 
the same house. As for you, it isn't your life. 
You're only an acquaintance. He'll shun you 
perhaps. What of it? I'm the one that counts. 
He'll find he owns something someone else covets. 
I'll be worth guarding. Either that or — you're 
thinking he may divorce me. Well, that's better 
than the other, than failure to keep him, just dull 
humdrum, middle class failure. Only it's going 
to be tiresome keeping it up, for you I mean. I'll 
have to come here occasionally for a time. 

Writer 
I shall move away! 

Woman 

(With genuine enthusiasm) 
Oh, If you would! If you'd go away, break 
it off, because I — I — leave the rest to me ! 
Good-night! My husband is waiting outside. 

Writer 
I wonder if he Is! (The Woman disappears 
quickly. He goes to the window and stands 
straining to see.) By Jove ! 

(He starts forward eagerly and we leave 
him looking out into the darkness as the 
curtain falls,) 



MAKING A MAN 



CHARACTERS 

Guy Parker 
Dr. Felder 
Mrs. Guy Parker 
Maggie 



MAKING A MAN 

M ROOM in the home of GuY Parker, an 
/I artist with pictures to sell. He is over 
-Z \. eighteen and under forty-five. He can^t 
conscientiously swear that he is the sole support of 
his little family, a wife and hoy, because he isn^t. 
They could not live even on the wrong side of 
Washington Square, if Mrs. Parker's father 
hadn*t happened to he rich enough to leave her an 
income. In normal times no husband would com- 
plain of such forethought, but when this play opens 
it happens to he October of the year igi8, when 
examining and exemption boards were working 
overtime. 

The room, a sort of literary den, is comfortable 
enough, but the owner of it, Guy Parker, is vis- 
ibly disturbed, uncomfortable, shivery, pale or 
yellow as the case may be. He comes in furtively, 
glad to find the place empty, and yet irritated that 
no one is there to welcome him. It is plain that 
things are all wrong with him. Alone, he doesn't 
hesitate to confess it. He crosses over to the 
mirror, looks at himself in disgust and is even 
heard to mutter a contemptuous '' bah/' One 

lOI 



I02 MAKING A MAN 

feels as though he would like to obliterate his re- 
flection^ yet he is not had-looking. On the con- 
trary if he didn^t look ill — but he is ill and no mis- 
take. He sinks into a chair but he can^t rest. 
Scarcely is he down, when he is up again. He 
crosses to a side table and pours himself out a 
glass of brandy, swallows it at a gulp, buries his 
face in his hands, and then looks up startled, as 
some one enters. It is only the maid of all work, 
Maggie, who has come in to look for Willie^s 
flag. 

Maggie 
Willie wants his flag, sir. 

Parker 
Flag — flag — (The word annoys Parker 
beyond understanding. He jumps to his feet.) 
What the devil is the flag doing in here? (It is 
the Stars and Stripes, and he finds he has been 
sitting on it. He drops it as though it burnt his 
fingers. Then, rather ashamed of himself, he 
quiets down muttering.) This isn't the place for 
it. The nursery is the place; toys everywhere! 
Where in thunder is everybody anyway? The 
place is like a tomb. (He shivers, throws open 
the window and lets in the sound of an organ 
grinding out '' The Star Spangled Banner/^ He 
hangs the window down, cursing the noise under 
his breath.) Where is Mrs. Parker? 



MAKING A MAN 103 

Maggie 
The ladies do be playing cards in the parlour. 
My, but you look sick, sir. Anything I can do ? 

Parker 
Sick? I should say so. (Grunts almost as 
though she were responsible.) I've sent for the 
doctor, Doctor Felder. When he comes show him 
right in here. 

Maggie 
(Hesitating) 
Shall I tell Mrs. Parker? 

Parker 
No ; no ; I don't want to see anyone. (Irritably 
after a pause.) How many are there in there? 

Maggie 
Oh, only four. There's Mrs. Beale and — 

Parker 
(Cutting her of short) 
I know — I know — I don't want them in here. 
Don't let them know I'm home. Where's Willie ? 

Maggie 
He took sick sir; he's in there, in bed. (In- 
dicating a room beyond.) And please, sir, he 
keeps asking if you're a soldier. 



I04 MAKING A MAN 

Parker 
(Sharply) 
What? 

Maggie 

A dozen times this day he has said: " My 
father's going to be a soldier!" If you'd see 
him, sir, and tell him — 

Parker 
(With growing irritability) 
No; no: I'm sick; I can't see him. 

Maggie 
Well, I won't tell him you're in yet; he doesn't 
know. 

Parker 

(Trying to pull himself together) 
What's the matter with him? 

Maggie 
It's his stomick, sir. 

Parker 
Something he's eaten! He's always eating 
something! Can't anyone look after that child? 

Maggie 
He's better now, sir; much quieter. 

(Parker grunts. All through this there 
has been a noise upstairs as of children 



MAKING A MAN 105 

running y growing louder and louder. The 
apartment is a humble one and the sounds 
from everywhere trickle through as surely 
as the doors creak and the windows stick. 
Suddenly there is a scream, the noise of an 
opening door, and a rush through the 
hall) 

Parker 
(Losing control again) 
What's that? 

Maggie 
The children upstairs! (The sound of 
'^ Yankee Doodle '^ and the children marching to 
it floats through the room, and then a hand is 
heard in the street.) It's the army! If Willie 
hears them he'll be out of bed in a minute ! 

(With that, Maggie, much excited, dashes 
out as she came in, flag in hand. Parker 
closes the door and even draws a curtain, 
trying to shut out the noise. Then he 
sinks into a chair, grabs up a couple of 
cushions and covers his ears with them. 
Upon this scene. Dr. Feeder is shown. 
He is German, of course, a German-Amer- 
ican. He is pompous and important, but 
the German part of him is only faintly 
indicated or Parker might have had noth- 
ing to do with him.) 



io6 MAKING A MAN 

Felder 
Well, I got your message. You feel not so 
good, eh? Well, that was to be expected. (He 
takes of his coat and lays down his hat.) Such a 
difficulty to get here ! Twenty soldiers passed by; 
twenty! And the streets are blocked; everyone 
stands to cheer them! Disgusting! The city 
should see to it that the comfort of its people is 
not interfered with. I have been pushed and 
mauled. Is the soldier such an extraordinary 
sight ? Twenty soldiers and twenty raw recruits, 
and everyone stops to look! You should see 
them — poor devils, each with a bundle; cannon 
food for Germany, bah ! 

(Throughout this Parker shrinks nerv- 
ously^ completely broken down, ashamed, 
sullen.) 

Parker 

Don't be so sure — America is going to win this 
war! 

Felder 

Well, we can't tell; perhaps! I live in Amer- 
ica. I practise here. I get my living here. 
Naturally, T hope — but I only say we can't tell. 
(He says this with unction while every word cuts 
like a lash.) Meanwhile I help you to stay home, 
out of it all; out of all that wretchedness and filth. 



MAKING A MAN 107 

Parker 
Well you needn't rub it in. 

Felder 
Why not? Why not? You got a wife and 
child ; not so ? Why should you go ? No, it's not 
fair, I say, to ask a man to give up his work to 
go out and get shot because — just because a few 
Americans want war. 

Parker 

(Utterly wretched) 

A few ? All — all ! Banners — flags — khaki 
everywhere. 

Felder 
No ; not so ! I can give you names of doctors 
working like me to save men from the draft; men 
willing to be saved. There is Dr. Bayer, Dr. 
Schultz ; oh, there are many ! 

Parker 
Really? Ready to help wretches like me? 

Felder 
Now, now, now. A man has as much duty to 
stay home as to go. That's what I tell them all. 
Out there — what? Not one in fifty comes back. 
Oh, the German knows how to shoot I 



io8 MAKING A MAN 

Parker 

(Ugly) 
So does the American ! He's proving it. 

Felder 
Well I didn't say he wasn't. I said the German 
was a good shot; that's all. When he has fin- 
ished with Europe — 

Parker 
(Interrupting with temper) 
There you go again ! 

Felder 
Well, when Europe has finished with him. It's 
all the same. My, but you pick me up ! When 
does your examination begin? 

Parker 
(Disconsolately) 
I've been today. 

Feeder 
So! They reject you, hein? What did I 
promise, hein? (The doctor walks up and down 
the room chuckling.) You see, American doctors 
haven't had our education; over here they don't 
know everything. If only I could spread the 
knowledge of what that little drug I gave you will 
accomplish, you would see some very startling 



MAKING A MAN 109 

things. By it the heart is affected, quickly, ma- 
terially. Oh, do not be afraid. I shall have you 
all right in a couple of days. What did they ask 
you — the doctors? Eh? 

Parker 
It was very simple. I filled out my papers 
some time ago. They examined my heart the 
first thing; asked me how long I had been aware 
I had heart trouble ; asked me if I had taken any- 
thing — 

Felder 
(Quickly) 
Of course you said not. 

Parker 
(Bitterly) 
Of course. There was a big American flag 
hanging in front of my eyes. I looked at it, and 
lied. They asked about my family, my life. I 
told them I had always had heart trouble. I 
said what you told me to — God, how I despised 
myself! They told me to report again Friday. 
A fellow came out as I went in. He said they had 
rejected him on account of his teeth; five miss- 
ing— 

Felder 
(Calmly) 
Yes, yes. The dentist can accomplish a great 



no MAKING A MAN 

deal but so few dentists are doing it. Some sur- 
geons have done well, but that takes courage. A 
finger must be sacrificed; or the hearing, or the 
eyes tampered with. My way is best. 

Parker 

(With unutterable loathing) 

For cowards like me ! Cowards all of us — 
cowards ! 

Felder 

(With a judicial air) 

I deny that these men are cowards. They have 
conscientious scruples and rightly. There are not 
so many as one would expect. We have been 
surprised how few, but if men like you who have 
been successful would go out and tell the others. 
If you would whisper to this one or that what can 
be done for such a trifling cost; without of course 
mentioning my name; and you can assure them 
that it is safe, perfectly safe. What I want is to 
build up, to spread this knowledge. It is a kind- 
ness. The more men you keep from the army, 
the sooner this war ends. 

Parker 
(Fiercely) 
Ends ? But what way — ends ? 



MAKING A MAN in 

Felder 
(Soothingly) 

Well, well, It ends. What Is the difference 
how? We have prosperity again; and life. You 
sell your works. Your stocks are up again. And 
what I propose Is absolutely safe. American doc- 
tors, I mean, you know, doctors who haven't had 
the advantage of education at some German 
clinic — (Breaking of suddenly in his enthusi- 
asm.) I ask you are there any greater doctors 
In the world than those of Germany? No, no. 
American doctors have doubtless never even heard 
of those little drops In that bottle I gave you to 
make you safe, to keep you out of the draft. 
Now I want you to take something to set you up 
again where you were before America became war 
mad. 

Parker 
(Sullenly) 

They gave me something over there. 

Felder 
(Disturbed) 
So? 

Parker 
They told me to take It and come back. 

Felder 
Let mc sec it. (Parker hands him a small 



112 MAKING A MAN 

phial. The doctor holds it to the light, smells it, 
tastes it and mutters uneasily.) The antidote! 
(Anxiously.) When are you to go back? 

Parker 
Tomorrow. 

Felder 
They suspect something! Strange how Amer- 
icans are always suspicious ! 

(At this moment Maggie appears at the 
door in great excitement.) 

Maggie 

Excuse me, sir, but WiUie looks awful bad! 
He doesn't answer me when I speak to him. 

Parker 
Willie? 

Maggie 

I wish you'd come in; he's never been this way. 

Parker 
(Calmly, thinking of course the maid exaggerates) 
Excuse me a minute, doctor. (He follows 
Maggie out of the room. In his absence, which 
lasts just a second. Feeder puts on his coat and 
picks up his hat. Parker returns, frightened, 
holding the door open behind him.) I can't rouse 
him ! For God's sake have a look at him ! He's 
all we have ! This way, Doctor. 



MAKING A MAN 113 

(Felder rips of his coat and disappears 
with Parker who now hovers between 
what appears to be the bedroom and the 
den, Mrs. Parker, whom Maggie has 
summoned^ enters hurriedly, leaving the 
lower door open, so that sounds of jollity 
are heard from the card players behind 

it.) 

Mrs. Parker 
What is it? 

Parker 
Billy! He doesn't answer me. I can't make 
It out ! 

Mrs. Parker 
He's been complaining all day. Something 
disagreed with him. 

Parker 
The doctor happened to be here, Dr. Felder. 
He's gone in. 

Mrs. Parker 
What did he say? 

Parker 
He hasn't come out yet; I don't know. 

Mrs. Parker 
(Afraid now to go in) 
Do you hear anything? 



H 


MAKING A MAN 




Parker 


No. 






Mrs. Parker 


Where's 


Maggie ? 



Parker 

In there; in there with the doctor. 

(There is a burst of merriment from the 
bridge party ^ at its height when Maggie 
comes back into the room crying.) 

Mrs. Parker 

(In terror) 

What is it? For God's sake ! 

(Mrs. Parker rushes out past her as 
Felder returns. He looks at Parker; 
shrugs his shoulders and moves towards 
his coat as though he'd like to be of.) 

Parker 

(Apparently dazed) 
Doctor ? 

Felder 

Nothing. I can do ; nothing. Too late — the 
heart. Perhaps if I had been called in earlier — 

Parker 
You don't mean? 



MAKING A MAN 115 

(Mrs. Parker is heard sohhing outside 
before she enters.) 

Mrs. Parker 
Doctor — doctor — can't you do anything? 
What does it mean? 

Parker 
The doctor says his heart — 

Mrs. Parker 

(Trying to control her voice) 

He complained of his stomach — I gave him 

something for indigestion. Oh, where is that 

stuff? Maggie — the bottle — (Appealing to 

doctor.) Oh, can't you do anything? 

Maggie 
(Between her sobs) 
Here's the medicine ! It was out of this bottle. 
(Felder takes it.) 

Mrs. Parker 
My husband's, medicine for indigestion. Billy 
— Billy — 

(With a prolonged wail Mrs. Parker 
dashes out of the room followed by 
Maggie. Dr. Felder and Parker are 
left facing each other. The card play- 
ers are heard again laughing loudly. 



ii6 MAKING A MAN 

Dr. Felder hangs the door sharply upon 
them. Then it is seen that he is beside 
himself with terror. Holding up the bot- 
tle in one trembling hand he turns upon 
Parker.) 

Felder 

Man — man — you verdamter idiot you ! 
You leave this about ! You — you've killed your 
child! 

Parker 

(Also beside himself, but now as much with rage 
as with grief.) 
I? I? You damned old German scoundrel I 
You dare ! You — you — 

Feeder 
Calm now, calm — 

Parker 
You accuse me? You? 

Feeder 
(In great agitation) 
We must get rid of this bottle. 

Parker 
Oh, that's your game, is it? 



MAKING A MAN 117 

Felder 
Well, isn't it yours? Don't be a fool! 
(Grabs up his coat again.) 

Parker 
You think you're going to get away? 
(Stands in front of door.) 

Feeder 
If I don't get away, what's going to become of 
you, eh? Come to your senses, man! Let me 
out ! Are you mad? It's easy enough to fool the 
coroner. Let me out. 

Parker 

(With hitter scorn) 

So that you can help other cowards like me. 

Feeder 
(Beginning to cringe) 
I tell you I'll put you back in shape if only you 
give me time. 

Parker 
(With sudden fierce resolution) 
Time? Time! That's what you're going to 
get! You've killed my boy! 

Feeder 
Good God, you'll have the neighbours in here 
in a minute. 



ii8 MAKING A MAN 

Parker 

(Quietly) 

Yes and the police. It's the finger of God, 
Felder ! 

Felder 
Tomorrow you'll curse yourself! 

Parker 

Today we're going to face the music, Felder. 
(The desperate calm of Parker frightens 
the doctor more and more.) 

Felder 

(In a hoarse whisper) 

Look, if you keep your mouth shut, I'll save 
you. Germany is back of this. For every man 
I keep out of the draft I get money, big money. 
I'll divide with you. I'll give you half. You 
won't have to do anything but sit still and wait. 
I'll send your name to Wilhelmstrasse and when 
the war is over you'll be rich — rich — rich! 
You'll be decorated. You've only got to keep 
your mouth shut. 

Parker 

Good God! You offer me Germany's blood 
money in exchange for my boy ! 



MAKING A MAN 119 

Felder 
Be a man ! I'll give you three quarters — all 
— all ! Be a man I 

Parker 
With God's help I mean to be. (He grabs up 
the telephone and calls at the top of his lungs.) 
Help ! Help ! Police ! Help ! A German has 
killed my child! A German! A German! 
Send a policeman! Be quick! (At this Mrs. 
Parker and Maggie rush in. Doors are flung 
open and frightened faces appear. Parker has 
forced Feeder into a chair where he crouches 
writhing. Parker towers above him.) Listen, 
all of you. I wanted to cheat my country at this 
time, in its need, in its peril. God forgive me. I 
fell into the hands of this cur; this carrion in the 
pay of Germany. His poison, made in Germany, 
was for cowards like me. It was to create an 
army of slackers. By a turn of fate it has killed 
my boy, my boy lying dead in there. I know now 
what we are fighting for ! I know now what free- 
dom means ! I know now that there is something 
dearer to me than my body, my wretched body. 
(Through the room there are murmurs of '' Oh, 
the pity of it:' '' His child! '' '' Horrible! '' ) 
Listen. For months I could see myself in the 
trenches, maimed, smashed, writhing in agony. I 
lost sight of the great thing, the great cause, my 



I20 MAKING A MAN 

country's need, my country's peril; the murdered 
women and children, the devastated cities. I saw 
only the infinitesimal me. It took that, my boy in 
there, killed by a German, to bring before me the 
mothers and children of Belgium. 

(Suddenly there is a commotion outside ^ and 
voices are heard crying, '' It's the police! 
Let them in! Open the doors J' The 
groans of the doctor and the sobs of the 
women are almost drowned in the con- 
fusion as the curtain falls.) 






THE END 



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